


Take Me Out

by feraldanvers



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Steve Rogers Hates the Yankees, background Carol/Jess, background Maria/Nat, minor Bucky/Rumlow, minor infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:26:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feraldanvers/pseuds/feraldanvers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky didn't know what he was thinking, bringing Brock on a date to a baseball game. Luckily, thanks to the guy on the other side of him, an order of nachos, and the Jumbotron, it all worked out in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Out

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this photoset](http://feraldanvers.tumblr.com/post/108685080475/jazzylifts-dont-blame-her) on Tumblr, which I saw and immediately said "LEFT TO RIGHT: RUMLOW, BUCKY, STEVE." If you're iffy on Bucky/Rumlow or infidelity, that photoset should provide some context to help you decide.
> 
> Thanks to buckstiel for the beta and also for generally existing <3

“Jesus Christ, what is that _smell_?”

Bucky looked up from where he was squeezing into his seat. Brock was sniffing the air like there might be a landfill underneath them.

“I don’t know,” Bucky huffed, “humanity? Fresh air?” He rolled his eyes. “Fun?”

“Don’t get cute,” Brock said, wrinkling his nose and dropping gracelessly into his seat.

When he’d come up with the idea to bring Brock to a game, Bucky had thought it might be far enough out of their usual routine to boost them out of the rut they were in. From the way Brock immediately pulled out his phone and bent over it, though, it wasn’t looking optimistic.

Bucky sighed a little bit—not loud enough that Brock could accuse him of dramatics—and leaned back in his seat to watch the players warm up. It was getting to the point where Nat’s constant attempts to set him up with Maria’s friends were starting to sound appealing, which was more than a little worrying.

Maybe he should date a Yankee, instead. It’s not like they’d be out of town any more than Brock already was, and they had _way_ better pants. He tilted his head to the side, considering, and tried not to sigh again. There was a guy two rows down with face paint and more Yankees merchandise than any one person should be able to wear at once, but he didn’t hold Bucky’s attention quite like the pinstripes did.

He was so engrossed in the view that he didn’t notice the people coming into his row until some guy knocked right into him. His overpriced soda teetered dangerously from where he’d stuck it between his legs, but only a few drops splashed out before Bucky caught it. Still, he turned to snap at the guy to watch himself, but as soon as he looked up the words dried up in his mouth.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry about that, I swear I used to fit in these seats better.” He was blond and enormous and smiling sheepishly as he eased down into the seat next to Bucky.

“Can’t take you anywhere, Cap,” one of the women on the other side of him said, and the man’s cheeks turned a little pink.

“Shut up, Carol,” he muttered in her direction, but there was no real feeling behind it. He turned back to Bucky again and smiled, and it was the kind of smile that looked like it probably adopted stray puppies on its own.

Bucky pushed down another sigh.

“It’s no problem,” he said, shrugging. “When they designed these seats I don’t think they had _that_ in mind.” He gestured at the guy’s alarmingly nice physique, ears turning hot at the way the guy just kept _smiling_ at him.

The guy just blushed a little more than before and rolled his eyes. “That’s why I don’t have season tickets.”

“No, Steve,” said one of the women he was with, this one with brown hair. Which of them was he here with? Both of them? _God_ , probably. “You don’t have season tickets because you’re a traitor who hates the Yankees.”

Bucky widened his eyes a little, gasping for full effect. “Don’t let that guy hear you saying that,” he said, nodding toward the guy with the face paint, and the guy next to him— _Steve_ —followed his gaze before snorting out a laugh.

Brock’s elbow dug sharply into his side, and Bucky jerked his head around in surprise.

“What are you doing?” Brock asked, barely keeping his voice down. “You ask me on a date, and then you’re gonna spend it hitting on some corn-fed idiot?”

Bucky’s face heated up, fists clenching a little. His knee-jerk reaction was to either bring up Brock’s incessant attention to his phone—which he _knew_ wasn’t always work-related—or defend the guy sitting next to him. The problem was, he’d been down the first road before without success, and he still had to live with the guy. He considered and dismissed about four ways the second option could go before giving up and turning back to the game.

There were a few moments of quiet from his left, and then the blonde woman—Carol—started hissing something at Steve.  After a minute, it died down and they struck up a conversation amongst themselves. Bucky pointedly tuned it out.

Bucky loved baseball, he really did, but the prospect of nine innings of this was making him regret even suggesting it. He slouched in his seat a little, trying not to sigh at the fact that they weren’t even done with warm-ups yet.

\---

By the top of the fifth, it was clear as day that fortune wasn’t exactly favoring the Mets, and Bucky was wishing he’d brought a jacket. On the plus side, Steve was radiating heat, and his shoulders were so broad that they brushed Bucky’s every few minutes. He didn’t give any sign that he noticed, and Bucky pretended he didn’t either even as he was soaking up the warmth.

Steve probably didn’t notice because he was too busy making these awful distracting groans every time the Yankees scored a run. Considering the fact that the Yankees were currently up by eleven, that made for a hell of a distraction. His girl wasn’t kidding: the man goddamn _hated_ the Yankees.

Brock had been predictably glued to his phone for most of the game, though he managed to lay a proprietary hand over Bucky’s thigh for three straight innings after Bucky snorted at Steve’s complaining. It was ridiculous, and Bucky had felt his irritation building by the minute.

 _This is it_ , he thought, aggravation slowly giving way to clarity as the Mets struck out again. _I’m throwing in the towel_. He’d spent a lot of time trying to convince himself they were just in a rut, but Bucky wasn’t stupid. Brock’s focus was a million miles away, and things weren’t getting any better. They sure as hell hadn’t in the last year and a half, anyway. He didn’t know how he was going to break it off without it being messy, but he had to do it. Things had already dragged out long enough.

“Hey,” Steve murmured without turning away from the game, “you okay?”

Bucky shot him a confused look. “Uh… yeah?”

“Okay, it’s just…” He nodded down at Bucky’s lap, and Bucky had a brief moment of terror that he had some kind of unexpected situation going on down there. When he looked, though, he just found his left hand clenched into a fist so tight the knuckles were white. Ah.

“Sorry,” Bucky whispered back. “It’s nothing. Just the game, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” the guy said, clearly skeptical, and then he rolled his eyes. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“I know.” Bucky blinked at Steve’s bemused smile. “Wait, no, um—“

“ _Bucky_.”

Bucky felt his fist clench up again; he hadn’t even noticed it relaxing in the first place. He turned back to Brock. “Yeah?”

“Can you get me some nachos? I don’t know where anything is in this shithole.”

“I… yeah, sure.” Bucky cursed himself a little for his awful goddamn habit of saying yes to Brock all the time, but he had a plan now. Well, half a plan. Either way, it was enough that he didn’t really mind the chance to stretch his legs and take a leak. He’d drained his overpriced soda in no time, and he was long overdue for the break.

He got up quickly, shuffling in front of Brock so he wouldn’t have to squeeze past Steve or Carol or the other one, all of whom were once again engaged in some kind of serious, hushed conversation.

With every step he took away from Brock, he felt a growing sense of relief, but there was no small amount of anxiety lurking underneath it. They’d been together for almost two years, after all. Cohabitation made this sort of thing difficult, and if he was honest with himself, it was probably the bulk of the reason they’d kept it up for so long. Bucky just shook his head and made his way to the bathroom.

The last thing he was expecting when he walked back out was Steve, but there he was. He was leaning up against the wall with his shirt stretching unreasonably across those broad shoulders, and he was clearly waiting on Bucky, who stopped short at the shifty expression on his face.

“You need something, pal?”

Steve frowned a little at his tone and shook his head.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, and it was Bucky’s turn to frown.

“Yeah, just had to…” He gestured behind him before raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure you know how that works.”

He didn’t mean to come off so rude, but he was feeling caught out. Steve just hid a smile before rolling his eyes, and the expression was reassuringly familiar even though Bucky had only known the guy a few hours.

“Thanks, yeah, I’m acquainted.” Steve’s expression smoothed out again, all but a little furrow between his eyebrows. “Bucky, right? I just wanted to make sure you weren’t in any trouble, I guess.”

“I don’t follow,” Bucky mumbled, even though he was pretty sure he did. _Christ_ , this was embarrassing.

“Just, that guy you’re with.  I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, he just seems…”

“Like an asshole?” Bucky snorted. “Yeah, you’re not wrong.”

“Okay,” Steve said, “as long as he’s not, you know. I just got an impression, and so did Carol and Jess, like, I don’t know—“

“Nah,” Bucky cut him off, putting the poor guy out of his stumbling misery. “He’s not exactly a good guy, but it’s nothing like that.”

“Okay,” Steve repeated. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Aren’t you just a regular superhero?” Bucky asked, smirking at the pink flush that rose up on Steve’s cheeks.

“All right, asshole, see if I try to do anything nice again.”

“Wow, _language_ , Steven,” Bucky scolded, grinning at the idea of this guy doing anything _not_ nice. “Do your adoring masses know you talk like that?”

“Okay, I’m going back to my seat. Enjoy standing in line for your nachos.” Bucky shot him a nasty look, but Steve was laughing and Bucky wasn’t far from it.

The line didn’t even seem that bad, with Bucky buoyed by the reminder that there were decent human beings in the world. Steve had practically been ready to whisk Bucky away in the night, which wasn’t even funny; it was sweet, and sad as hell, but it was definitely appreciated. It’s not like he didn’t get concern about Brock’s shit from his friends—Natasha, in particular, had never hesitated to share her opinions or her list of potential replacements—but Steve was a stranger. He didn’t have any reason to stick his neck out, but it had seemed like he was ready to do just that.

By the time he got back to his seat and handed Brock his nachos, Brock looked restless and irritated, and he was shooting suspicious looks at Steve. _Great_.

“What took you so long?” He gave Bucky the look he saved for when he thought Bucky was being stupid. “Did you have to make the cheese yourself?”

Bucky took a bite of the pretzel he’d gotten for himself. “I mean, I think they make it from a powder,” Bucky said as he chewed, fighting a smile when Brock wrinkled his nose in distaste. “So it wouldn’t have really held me up.”

He heard Steve cough behind him, and Brock’s face just shut down as he went back to his phone, nachos balanced on his lap. Another half inning passed uneventfully, the Mets slowly gaining runs but nowhere near catching up. Steve radiated defeat, but at least he seemed more or less good-natured about it, despite the constant ribbing from his friends.

It wasn’t until Bucky glanced over and saw Carol leaning over to kiss the other woman—presumably Jess—that he realized that Steve wasn’t actually with _either_ of them, not judging by the way he cast his eyes shyly at his feet. It was adorable, honestly, and one hundred percent unfair.

Bucky was more than ready to get out of there, but if he asked Brock to go home early, he knew he’d never hear the end of it. He stared blankly at the field, willing the time to pass quickly and without incident.

After a few minutes, though, he noticed the people two rows in front of him turning around to look at him, and then the people in front of them were turning around and _pointing_ , and _what in the hell was going—_

Oh. He looked up at the Jumbotron, blinking dumbly at the giant heart framing a blown up image of him and Brock.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled. Was this a sign? God, was the universe telling him not to make a rash decision? “Brock,” he said urgently. “Hey. Look at that!”

Brock looked up from his phone to where Bucky was pointing, squinted a little, and then turned back to Bucky with his eyebrows raised in surprise. For one long moment, Bucky thought he was going to go for it, but then he huffed a laugh right in Bucky’s face.

“What are we, twelve?” He looked back down at his phone, and Bucky realized he hadn’t even stopped typing. “I’m busy.”

Bucky’s cheeks flamed red, he knew, as the growing chant of “ _Kiss him_ ” coming from their section started to taper off into booing. He dropped the last bit of his pretzel, appetite chased away by embarrassment, and moved to stand, but then he felt a hand on his left arm and looked sharply at Steve. He was looking at Bucky like he’d surprised himself, and he was biting his lip a little, but his wide eyes never left Bucky’s.

“Yeah?” Bucky said faintly, the sound of the crowd fading under the buzzing in his ears, and Steve nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, and his hands came up to cup Bucky’s face like Bucky was something delicate as Bucky pressed into him, his kisses open-mouthed but mostly chaste because even though he was light-headed, he couldn’t quite forget that they were on the goddamn Jumbotron, and—

“Shit,” Bucky said, pulling back and staring wild-eyed at Steve. The sounds around him came rushing back, the cheers and whistles from the crowd, and—

“—fucking _kidding_ me, Bucky? You’re gonna do this shit right in my face?”

Bucky whipped his head around, the wave of anger that had been building in his chest finally breaking, leaving him feeling weirdly calm.

“Would you rather I take a play out of your book and do it behind your back?” Bucky asked, and Brock’s nostrils flared as he jumped to his feet, splattering half-congealed cheese all over his expensive shoes. Bucky stood too, and he could feel Steve right behind him. His presence there was weirdly steadying, considering the fact that they still had a decent-sized audience.

“You listen to me, Barnes,” Brock gritted out, sticking his finger in Bucky’s face. “I’m not gonna have a boyfriend who thinks he can embarrass me like this, do you understand?”

“That’s an easy fix, then. We’re _done_. Do you understand?” he repeated, and Brock’s face turned an alarming shade of red before he turned to stomp away. His dramatic exit was hampered by his foot getting caught in his little plastic nacho tray, and then by all the people in their row who seemed to be making a point of not getting out of his way. Bucky deflated at the sight of his retreating back.

“Whoa,” Steve said behind him, and Bucky turned back to him, blinking. “I’m so sorry, I’ve never done anything like that. I don’t know what I was—“

“Steve, stop for a second.” Steve stopped. “Do you want to get out of here before the Mets lose?”

“Oh, god, yes.”

“The Mets already lost!” Jess called from her seat, cackling when Steve tossed a middle finger her way.

“You two got a way home?” Bucky asked, leaning around to look at them, and Carol rolled her eyes.

“Yes, _mom_ , we’re fine. You’re worse than him,” she said with a nod toward Steve, and Bucky shrugged, a grin tugging at his mouth.

“I’ll have him home by eleven,” he said, winking, and Steve grabbed his hand to tug him away.

“That’s Maria’s problem, not ours,” Jess told him dismissively, and then they were on the steps and Steve was dragging him toward the exit.

“Easy, tiger,” he said, laughing when Steve slowed down right away.

“I can’t have you ganging up on me before we even go on a date,” Steve said, “and that’s exactly what was going to happen if we didn’t make a quick exit.”

“A _date_ , huh?” Bucky teased, but he had a feeling his smile was on the goofy side. He paused for a second, smile dimming. “Wait, who’s Maria?”

“My roommate,” Steve said quickly. “We were in the Army together. She’s gay. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.”

“Calm down,” Bucky chuckled, but the wheels in his head were turning. “Hold on, do you live in Dumbo?”

Steve’s answer was cut off by Natasha’s ringtone coming from Bucky’s pocket, and he went for it with an apologetic smile. She always texted unless it was important, and he didn’t want to take the chance.

“Nat?”

“Maria says to tell Steve to turn his phone off silent before she calls the stadium and has them page him.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” he muttered, stopping to slump against the wall as his suspicions were confirmed.

“What is it?” Steve asked, eyes worriedly searching Bucky’s face.

“Hold on, Nat.” Bucky covered the phone up with his hand. “That’s my friend Nat,” he told Steve. “Her, uh. Her girlfriend said to tell you to turn on your phone.”

A series of expressions passed over Steve’s face: His confusion faded quickly to surprise, and then veered back toward confusion, and then detoured into panic as he scrambled for his phone.

Bucky couldn’t blame him; he’d never gotten the impression that Maria was someone to be fucked with. He put the phone back to his ear.

“He’s doing it,” he told her faintly. “So, wait a second. That friend of Maria’s you’re always trying to set me up with, the old Army buddy…”

“Yup,” Natasha said smugly. “You know, for all your protesting that you weren’t available, you sure did just play out quite the soap opera on national television.”

“Fuck,” Bucky said, “don’t you two have anything better to do than sit around watching the Mets lose?”

“Maria had money on it.” Natasha sounded distracted, and Bucky could hear her saying something away from the phone. He chanced a look back up at Steve, who had his own phone to his ear and was staring at Bucky with his mouth hanging open.

“James?” he mouthed and Bucky rolled his eyes a little bit before nodding.  He wasn’t sure what reaction he was expecting, but Steve beaming at him like the goddamn sun sure wasn’t it.

“I can hear you blushing,” Natasha said flatly, but he could hear her amusement underneath. “Are you ever going to learn to do things the easy way?”

“Not likely,” Bucky told her, smiling back at Steve, who was hanging up his own call. “I gotta go,” he said quickly, hitting the button to end the call before she could get the last word in.

“So… this is weird,” Steve said after a moment.

“Really weird,” Bucky agreed, rocking back on his heels a little as they just looked at each other for a few long seconds.

“Maria’s been telling me about Natasha’s friend who was about to break up with his boyfriend,” Steve said, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, she’s been telling me about him for months, so I figured she was making it up.”

“Apparently not,” Bucky murmured, charmed by how shy Steve seemed all of a sudden.

“Listen,” Steve said. “I know you’re just getting out of a relationship, and I don’t want to rush you into anything or be presumptuous, but Maria said she’s staying over at Natasha’s, and if you wanted to hang out—“

“I do,” Bucky assured him, but then he remembered his situation and deflated a little. “Shit, where else would I go, anyway?”

Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and then his jaw firmed up with clear determination. Bucky spared a brief moment to consider whether Steve was, in fact, real. He seemed like the sort of person Bucky would make up, is all.

“You can stay tonight,” Steve said, and then shook his head. “Shit, not like that, I’m sorry. I mean you can stay in my room, and I’ll stay in Maria’s. And in the morning we’ll get breakfast, and then we’ll go get your stuff and go to Natasha’s, and we can all figure it out from there. Does that sound okay?”

Bucky stared at him for a minute, and he might have muttered something about superheroes, but he was grabbing Steve’s hand when he did it. He figured that was a good enough start.


End file.
